


Nemesis

by Persephone



Series: The Men of Myth Convention [1]
Category: Excalibur (Movie), Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Men of Myth Convention
Genre: Conventions, Gen, Hotels, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each year, a Men of Myth Convention takes place in modern day Orlando, Florida, in which characters from legend and myth appear at a five-day convention to do panels and get into all kinds of fucked up things like get drunk in bars.</p><p>In this fic, Merlin is being an asshat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nemesis

**Author's Note:**

> The Men of Myth Convention is a crossover universe invented by [Stewardess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stewardess/).

Gandalf was aghast. Merlin was a brazen attention hussy. Unarguably the most irritating show-off in the whole world.

The six thousand or so attendees in Convention Hall Room 6AB _oohhed_ and _aahhed,_ googly-eyed at the puny Camelot-shaped fireworks display. The display wasn’t even _on_ the panel’s agenda.

The _Wizards & Their Pupils_ panel was meant to be one of the _dignified_ panels, devoid of the hackish attention grabbing behavior that marked so many of the Convention’s five-day events.

But of course Merlin hadn’t come here to deliver a paper or engage in any meaningful discussion. He had accepted the invitation just so he could continue his irritating one-sided rivalry with Gandalf.

Gandalf let out a growl of disgust.

“I do not think he does it to upset you, Mithrandir,” Faramir placated by his side.

“His very _existence_ upsets me.”

As soon as the last spark of flying buttress fizzled out the audience began to cry out – just as Gandalf had feared they would – “Fireworks, Gandalf! Fireworks!”

Gandalf huffed indignantly into the microphone, not needing to look to know that Merlin was smirking his face off. Merlin knew fully well that Gandalf the White would never sink to such antics. He no doubt felt he had won this round in his annoying childish game.

“Aww,” Merlin pouted into his microphone. “I’m sure that after delivering such a thorough paper, Gandalf must be _very_ tired. Excellent firework displays can be tasking, you know. Sorry folks, maybe next time.”

The crowd groaned while at the far back wall a big orange light lit up near the ceiling, indicating that their time was up. The moderator got on the microphone and thanked the panelists and reminded the audience that the autograph signing session would be starting in a few minutes.

They walked off the stage to thunderous applause, staying close behind the line of Star Fleet security officers protecting them from being mobbed as they exited.

Predictably, Merlin dogged his footsteps all the way into the Autograph Signing Room, while Faramir left to get them refreshments from the other side of the room.

At the tables set side by side, each with three chairs, Gandalf took the middle one of the table on the right and Merlin did the same at the one on the left.

Gandalf set his staff against the table, and Merlin propped his higher before letting it slide to a rest.

Gandalf placed his arms on the table, and Merlin did the same.

Gandalf gritted his teeth, took a deep breath and turned to bark at Merlin, when the scent of aethelas and sandalwood wafted suddenly from his right and made him stop.

“He only does it to upset you,” Aragorn murmured, taking his seat and patting Gandalf’s shoulder. “Any literate person knows you are no imitation of that loon. Why he thinks he has the monopoly on wizardry, I cannot imagine.”

Gandalf huffed. “Thank you, dear boy.”

“At last your pretender to the throne has arrived,” Merlin called smoothly. “Now perhaps, if it’s not too much too ask, we can get started.”

“No we may not get started,” Gandalf spat. “We’re still waiting on your daft boy-king.”

“Actually,” Aragorn interjected smoothly. “Arthur said to start without him. He and the knights went somewhere first, I don’t know where.”

Aragorn signaled the volunteer at the door to start the line moving. Faramir returned with his and Gandalf’s drinks, and Aragorn smiled at him. Faramir smiled lovingly back, carefully placed their drinks on the table, and took his seat to Gandalf’s left.

At that moment a shimmering shaft of pure white light radiated from the chair to Merlin’s left, accompanied by the faint sighing of angels, dazzling the room, before subsiding to reveal the figure of Sir Galahad. Galahad sat down and placed his and Merlin’s drinks on the table.

The fans in the room _oohhed_ and _aahhed,_ and Gandalf seethed, but kept his eyes straight ahead.

To his far left, Merlin’s smirk burned into his face.

To his right, Aragorn whimpered softly.

Faramir scowled. “Could Aragorn stare any harder?” he whispered fiercely. “How much sweetness and light can one man want? I refuse to play that game.”

Gandalf tapped the table space in front of him and the first giddy fan placed a glossy high resolution 8x10 still in front of him. He scrawled his signature across his pictorial grimace.

“Don’t try and compete with Galahad,” he soothed Faramir. “He’s a freak show. You’re better than that.”

Faramir scowled harder.

“The Knights of the Round table are _so cool,_ ” gushed the fanboy standing in front of Merlin, dressed as a page boy. “They would totally kick the Fellowship’s ass! Camelot _rules!_ ”

Merlin chuckled coyly. “Oh, nonsense,” he said falsely. “You’re too kind. You flatter me. You flatter _us._ Doesn’t he flatter outrageously, Galahad?”

Just then there was a commotion at the entrance and a cheer followed. Gandalf didn’t bother looking up. Arthur and his entourage had arrived, obviously.

Sir Gawain and his brothers ushered in their king while Merlin stood up with a flourish, exchanging loud words of greeting with Arthur before seating him.

Arthur waved wildly to a contingent of fans dressed as noblemen and wenches, eliciting ecstatic squeals from them.

“Hey you guys!” Arthur called to their table. “Have you lot seen the Minas Tirith display they set up in the back parking lot?! It’s _huge!_ It’s _so_ blasted huge, it’s called a bigature! Egad! Your city is the most wonderful place in the world!”

Gandalf slowly turned to look at Arthur, who was nodding excitedly while Aragorn murmured a thanks.

“Oh?” Gandalf prompted casually. “You were impressed?”

“Yes!” Arthur exclaimed.

“Arthur!” Merlin bit out.

“The One Hundred Knights are crawling all over it,” Arthur went on. “There are pubs and everything! I had no idea the bigature was so blasted… _big!_ ” He let out a resounding whoop. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“Didn’t you see it on the _Return of the King_ Extended?” Aragorn asked gently.

“Just sign the photos, Arthur,” Merlin sighed in resignation.

“No,” Arthur said to Aragorn, shaking his head sadly. “I couldn’t figure out how to work the controls on the DVD player. I mean, I know _Play,_ but Guinevere’s the one who knows all about that stuff, and she’s always off on riding lessons with Lancelot.”

Faramir stifled a sudden howl. Gandalf began to smile.

Things were looking up, more bearable now. He didn’t know why Merlin tried so hard to prove they were the original, and therefore superior set, when all Arthur had to do was open his mouth and lay to rest that illusion.

“We could take you and your knights on a personal tour of the city later, if you like,” Aragorn offered. “Show you the sights from the Citadel.”

“Would you!” Arthur gushed. “That would be fantastic! Right, Galahad?” Arthur turned to Faramir. “Galahad’s been dying to ask you all kinds of boring scholarly questions about your city. But he’s too shy to go anywhere near the wonderful Faramir, his words, even though I told him you were _completely_ approachable.”

Faramir slowly lifted his head and looked at Galahad. Galahad let off a shy smile, flooding the room with shimmering radiance and causing the fans to _oohh_ and _aahhh._ Gandalf wished he would get a flaw already. Even for a wizard the light was a bit bright to look at.

Faramir smiled back at Galahad, clearly flattered. “Of course,” he said sweetly. “It would be my pleasure.”

To his right, Aragorn whimpered softly.

To his far left, Merlin glared and seethed, so that the air around him sizzled with hatred.

Gandalf twirled his silver autograph pen and settled more comfortably in his seat. He beamed at the next fan in his line, who was dressed as Samwise Gamgee.

The Lord of the Rings fans had arrived.

~*~

 _End_


End file.
